


When Heroes Fall

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), natalieashe



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond is Unpleasant, Break Up, Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Q is Just Young, Vomiting, argument, upset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/natalieashe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q admired 007 from afar long before he became Quartermaster.  He was something of a hero to the young man.  But hero worship is rarely based in reality</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Heroes Fall

“You had no business being in that building at all 007. The risk to civilians was too great.” Q said tightly trying to rein in his anger. He grimaced knowing M, Tanner and Moneypenny lurked just over his shoulder, witnessing the entire cock up that was a result of Bond completely ignoring his instructions and going his own way as usual. The Minions scurried around trying to look busy and not at all like they were listening to the furious argument between their Quartermaster and most difficult agent that had been raging for the past ten minutes.

“The target didn’t care too much about fucking civilians Q. He ran and I followed. He needed to be taken out.”

“There were other opportunities before you got that far. Now there are three children dead because of your bull-headed stupidity and resistance to following orders. And to make matters worse, you didn’t even accomplish what you claim you were trying to do.” Mallory had moved up and was indicating he should be patched in, but Q’s temper was up. “How the hell am I supposed to keep control of the mission if you go way off script at the first opportunity?”

“This isn’t about controlling the mission Q, it’s about controlling me. I do things my own way. You’re nothing but tech support. Don’t get above your station Quartermaster. You might have the title, but you’re still just another little twink I’m fucking on the side. Or is that how you try to control all your agents?”

The silence was deafening and stretched into minutes. Every eye turned on him.

Mallory was at his side. “Yes. Well. A conversation in my office later Quartermaster. Shall we get this idiot out of the fix he has created so I can begin damage limitation?”

Q took a deep breath. “Co-ordinates for you rendezvous point transmitting now. You have one hour. Q, out.”

 

Q stood over the body, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his parka, glasses fogging slightly from the hot water that streamed from the shower. After a few moments he reached past the curtain and silenced the torrent, shaking drops free of his sleeve.

The woman in the bedroom was gathering her clothes from the floor, muttering angrily to herself in some Slavic language. Polish, he thought. She was skinny, pale skinned with brunette wavy hair. A month earlier he would have judged her appearance and laughed that she was so true to type.

“How long has he been like that?” He asked, taking in the room with a sweep of his grey-green eyes. Clothes scattered on the floor, spirit bottle almost empty, pills spilled on the bedside table. “How many of these did he take? How long?”

She shrugged, uncaring. “Said he needed to wash. Heard him retching. Too much booze.” Her accent was thick, voice nasal. Irritating.

“Couldn’t get it hard” she sneered.

"Does he owe you money?” Feeling around for his wallet. He would pay her to go before he called anyone. Ambulance. The sensible option maybe, but not just yet.

“I’m not a fucking whore” she spat, yanking the cheap stretchy dress over her head, wriggling it down over visible ribs and bony hips. Track marks on her arms said de was probably lying. “Who the fuck are you anyway? Boyfriend? He never say of boyfriend.” Her eyes narrowed. “He say no condoms. You are clean?”

“You’re an idiot.” He held out a twenty pound note, the sum contents of his wallet.

She snatched it out of his hand. “Not a whore. For my cab home.” The door banged shut behind her.

Back in the bathroom he nudged the body with his toe. It jerked, grunted. The room smelled of urine, sour vomit and whisky. Lying on the floor in his own piss and puke he cut a fine figure of a man. His golden hero. Bitterness twisted his gut. Fool’s gold.

“007? Bond?” He nudged again and yelped when a hand shot out a like a striking viper to wrap around his ankle.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the prone man croaked. No other body part moved, whether because he was too incapable or had simply sunk into the stillness of an agent on alert, Q didn’t know.

“Saving your arse yet again it would seem. Really Bond, the self-destructive act is getting wearisome. How many pills? Most of the Scotch is in the loo or on the floor.” Q wrinkled his nose at the stench, reached over and checked. No evidence of pills in the pan. He flushed.

“What makes you think it’s an act?” He muttered, ignoring Q’s question.

“Because you’re far too effective as an agent. When you kill, your target stays dead. If you really wanted to end this you would put that beautiful new Walther in your sullen mouth and blow the back of your pretty head off.” 

Bond turned his head, cracked an eye balefully at the brown leather brogue dealers that were inches from his face. Q continued “This is a tantrum. You can’t handle the scales falling from my eyes. Your adoring fan has seen you for what you are.”

“Acerbic. Never adoring.”

“But you had my respect.”

Bond made a wretched sound and Q realised it was a laugh. “And now?”

“What do you think?” Q filled a glass of water, held it out to the prone man. When he failed to take it Q upended it on Bond’s head stepping neatly away to avoid the spluttering, flailing man.

“What the fuck Q?” Bond demanded sitting up and immediately wishing he hadn’t.

“Do you need your stomach pumped? Think carefully. Death by multiple organ failure is slow and painful.” Q glared down at him, fiddling with the phone in his pocket. Call an ambulance anyway? Time was of the essence, but…

“No pills” Bond growled.

Q nodded once, turned on his heel and exited the bathroom. “Clean yourself up 007. You’re a disgrace to Queen and Country.”

Q was almost to the door when Bond staggered from the bathroom. “Q, wait. What I did to you was…”

“Was?” Q prompted, face impassive. His stomach roiled with nervous anger. “Shall I finish the sentence for you? Unprofessional? Arrogant? Cruel? All would fall within context I believe.”

“I never claimed to be a good man Q. You attribute qualities to me that I don’t possess.”

“Perhaps not good, but I thought under all that swagger and bravado there lurked some decency. I am not a mission target to be terminated. Nor am I a piece of equipment for you to destroy or discard when I have outlived my useful purpose.” 

Q huffed out a sigh of frustration, paused looking at the wall, door, floor… Anywhere but at Bond. “Whatever you think of me personally, humiliating me publicly in my workplace to boost your own sense of self-worth was below the belt. Sort yourself out.” He yanked the door open and marched through. He didn’t slow his pace until he turned the corner at the end of the road and fell heavily against the wall. The problem with heroes is glitter is only sticks to the surface.

 

Q knew Bond’s reputation of course, but somehow that had added to his allure. Watching from the other side of the gallery those few months ago Q had licked his lips nervously, heart beating a little more quickly. He pushed his glasses up his nose with a knuckle and took a deep breath. 007 would not be impressed by a stammering fool of a boy. Q could do quiet confidence, appear self-assured. Even if his stomach churned so badly he wanted to throw up on the agent’s shoes. His line was rehearsed. He couldn’t stumble over it or he would lose the agent for good. He already knew his apparent age was not in his favour. He’d prepared for that too. This was his chance – his one chance – to make a good first impression on the agent whose career he had followed from the shadows for the last four years. He sat down.

Remarkably Bond had come around relatively quickly after Skyfall. He spoke up in defence of Q at the enquiry following the Silva debacle. He started to swing by the department just to chat, flirt. Q was embarrassed that he was still impressed by the glittering golden agent. Two weeks after the enquiry closed with no penalties against the Quartermaster, Bond took him to dinner. Four hours later he took him to bed. A month later they were still fucking. Q wasn’t naïve, he knew it wasn’t a relationship, but he thought that at least there was mutual respect.

The whispers were as loud as a roar. 007 was returned from suspension and was once again prowling the corridors of MI6. Q ignored the furtive glances, faced down the sympathetic stares. The young Quartermaster was the consummate professional and had conducted himself with quiet dignity while the storm of gossip raged around him. He would not wither now just because Bond had returned.

Even so, Q swallowed when the door to Q-branch swung open to admit the agent. The man moved like a feral hunting tom cat, blond head sweeping left and right, keen blue eyes seeking his prey. There was nothing cautious in his manner, nothing wary in his stride. He was still the unapologetic predator.

“007. The modifications you asked for have been made. Andrew will take you through them.” Speak first, control the conversation. Ignore the two pink spots of colour on his pale cheeks.

“Not you? You always talk me through your changes” Bond smirked, leaning against the workbench, confident and cocky. He noted the curious glances. Smiled ruefully. “It seems I’ve managed to cause even more of a stir than normal.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed. Andrew… If you would…?”

Bond caught his arm. Q looked down at Bond’s hand and back up the frowning man. “Come on Q. I apologised. Let me take you to dinner.”

“Actually, I don’t believe you did.“ He withdrew from Bond’s grasp. “Assess your modifications 007. Save your dinner invitations for the twinks that deserve your sparkling attention. Perhaps then we can work on restoring some professional respect. Enough that I consider saving your arse the next time you need it at least.” 

He had no room for heroes anymore.


End file.
